


Wrong

by Maraceles



Series: Conflict of Interest [1]
Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-14
Updated: 2016-04-14
Packaged: 2018-06-02 06:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6553849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maraceles/pseuds/Maraceles
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack and Ba'al are forced to work together for survival, and they <i>fit</i> way better than they should.</p><p>(originally posted to LJ)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wrong

When they are captured, they first try to kill each other.

The fight doesn't last very long, even though it should have. On the field, they're pretty much _even stevens_ \--Baal is much stronger than Jack, but Jack is quicker and used to fighting his own battles--and Jack's been wanting to do this for ages. He wants to take his time. Baal, he thinks, does the same thing for the same reason. 

_Sadists,_ the word flits across Jack's mind, _the both of us._

The fight doesn't last very long, but only because they're on Anubis' prison planet. Which means that within the rooms and corridors of the maze-like structure they've both found themselves in, there are other goa'uld, and most of them like humans. Preferably dead, and if you've got 'em, on little sticks.

Fortunately, they also like Baals, too.

"What'd you _do_ to them?" Jack finally asks, fighting his way from one corridor to another. Baal is following closely behind. "They're _seriously_ pissed off."

"I sent them here, before, for _failing_ to kill _you_ ," Baal tells him.

"Huh," Jack replies.

Along the way, Baal also saves his life.

Jack doesn't like to think about it.

__________

 

Two months later, while they are still hiding, Baal finally goes into sarcophagus withdrawal.

"Damn it," Jack mutters under his breath. "We don't have time for this."

They're sitting ducks. The other goa'uld knew that, too, the bastards--each and every one of them had probably gone through sarcophagus withdrawal already, those with the weak and/or old hosts dying off. _Or killing other people_ , Jack notes to himself, remembering what Daniel had almost done to him, so long ago.

"Leave me," Baal tells him shortly. The goa'uld is shivering on the floor. "My death is inevitable."

Jack is really, really tempted to take him up on the offer, exaggerated though it is. Yeah, the guy _had_ saved his life, but he had also taken it, again and again and again. He could leave Baal to die, Jack thinks to himself a bit angrily, and Baal would still owe him about fifty favors.

Jack can't quite do it, though, and he doesn't want to examine why.

"Stop being a moron," he finally tells Baal, irritation clouding his voice as he crouches next to him. "People make it through addiction everyday." Jack thinks about it for a moment. "Well, some of them do."

"Humans," Baal tells him, holding his head in his hands, "are less sophisticated than the gods."

Jack reaches out, tipping Baal's chin up and checking his eyes, then the rest of his features. "I'm really sick of hearing that," he says, releasing Baal's face. 

Yep, the goa'uld was about to flip-out big time, any minute now. Jack looks around briefly, considers ripping what was left of his or Baal's shirts to make into rope, but the other man is a goa'uld, as the bastard kept reminding him. 

"Anything around here that will be able to hold you?" Jack finally asks. "You're about to get really crazy on me, really soon."

"I'm about to _die_ ,” Baal tells him angrily.

“Is your host old?” Jack demands, rolling his eyes. He already knows the answer to these questions. “Does he have any defects that you can’t fix on your own?”

“As if I,” Baal snarls at him, “would choose an imperfect host.”

Yep, definitely going off the deep end--Jack hasn’t seen Baal snarl since, well, ever. He kind of likes it over the smoothly cool smugness, though. “Then stop your whining,” Jack tells him shortly. “And quit wasting my time--answer the damn question.”

"And which 'damn question' would that be?"

"Is there anything," Jack asks again, keeping his voice low and calm, "that can keep you tied up?"

Baal looks around, his eyes wild. "No."

" _No_?" Jack demands.

Baal glares at him. "Do _you_ see anything, O'Neill?"

The hell of it is, Baal is right--Jack doesn't see anything that could do the job. "I'm a dead man," he mutters under his breath, but he quickly turns to option number two. "Hey, hey there," he says, turning back to Baal and snapping his fingers. "Focus."

"Focus?" Baal asks blearily. "Focus on what, precisely?"

"On...on," Jack thinks about it. What had he done with Daniel, the last time, besides talking him away from his gun? Daniel had been raging, going on and on about...it suddenly comes to him. "Tell me a story," Jack orders, turning back to Baal.

"Excuse me?" Baal asks him, his voice slurring heavily. "Are you quite mad?"

Jack waves the question away. "Tell me," he says, settling himself next to Baal, but not close enough that Baal could do immediate damage. Just in case. "What's the first thing you remember?" Daniel would kill for this, Jack suddenly realizes with a pang. 

Baal is talking, his face set in a frown. "My great-great-great-grandfather..."

"No," Jack interrupts him. "No. Your own memory. And not your host's either, I really don't want to hear about that. What's the first thing _you_ remember?"

The goa'uld is dazed, gone--Jack isn't even sure if he'd heard the question. But after a moment, Baal speaks again, his voice soft. "Canaan," he says.

Jack starts at the name. " _What?_ "

Baal's eyes focus on him, recognizing his confusion. "Not your old symbiote," he clarifies. "The land of Canaan..." his voice trails away.

Jack remembers this part, the waking, the sleeping, the delirium and dreams. But Baal is still talking. "Lush," he is murmuring, and he reaches for Jack, his eyes closing. "Beautiful. Color, sound..." and he moans, a low and desperate noise. "...freedom." 

_Freedom?_ Jack repeats inwardly.

Baal is muttering; Jack can barely hear him. "Freedom..." the goa'uld says. "Kill for it, steal..." 

Jack watches over Baal as he sleeps, and he tries not to think about anything.

\-----------------

Three months later, when Baal finds a hand device, Jack knows it's over.

“On your knees,” Baal orders, turning to him slowly. 

Jack glares at him, thinking, _I should have known._ He feels a flash of betrayal, but it leaves him quickly--Baal is, after all, just a goa'uld. They've always been utterly predictable as a species, and Jack never should have let down his guard. “’Cause that’s going to happen,” he finally tells Baal, forcing his voice into lightness. 

Baal shrugs lazily. “As you wish.”

With a brilliant flash of light, Jack feels himself blasted down the corridor. He hits the ground, and for a moment he feels paralyzed, but the feeling quickly passes, and he gets to his feet. _Bastard,_ he chants to himself bitterly, even though he knows better. _Two-timing, back-stabbing bastard._

Baal gets within shooting distance. His lips quirk in a grin, a quick flash of teeth.

“Ah, to be a god,” he says, a sigh of pleasure escaping his lips. He stares at his hand, clenching and unclenching it, the jewels of the hand-device glinting in the low light of the building. “Such a wonderful sensation.” 

Jack grinds his teeth together. _Goa'uld,_ he tells himself. _Go-a-fucking-uld. Memorize it next time._ “Do you need to get a room?” he finally asks, smiling through the clench in his jaw. “Cause there’s plenty.” 

Baal arches an eyebrow at him. “Shall I consider that an invitation?”

Jack growls at him. “You’re a sick bastard." 

“It would please me indeed,” Baal continues musingly, “you on your knees.” His eyes flick over to bore into Jack’s. “Serving me.”

He's six feet away, too far to go without going mano-a-hand-device. The corridor stretches behind Jack, but he _really_ doesn’t like the idea of turning his back on Baal. “Not going to happen.”

“I could, of course," Baal says languidly, "kill you right now. If you cease to be of use to me." He arches an eyebrow.

There's no way Jack's getting on his knees. “Go ahead," he taunts. "Been there, done that.”

Baal's eyes crinkle with amusement. “I can enjoy myself in other ways, O’Neill," Baal says, rolling the name off of his tongue.

Jack only glares.

“Do you doubt me?” Baal's smile is positively cheerful. 

Jack finally explodes. “Will you just shoot me already?” 

Baal raises his hand, sighing theatrically. “You disappoint me,” he says. But when he opens his fist, it’s the wrong hand, and his voice is as smug as Jack’s ever heard. 

“Here,” Baal tells him, his voice low and amused. “Take this.”

An object clatters to the ground.

Jack stares at it. 

“A zat,” he says finally.

“Zatnikitel,” Baal corrects him. “I hate your Tau’ri bastardization.”

Jack stares at the zat some more. “You’re such an asshole,” he says after a moment.

Baal's smile is wide and wickedly gleefully. Jack wants to punch him. “I wished to see if you would kneel,” Baal tells him, shrugging his shoulders. 

Jack walks over, and picks up the gun. He weighs it in his hand for a moment, flicks it on, flicks it off, and then turns to Baal. "You're _so_ going to pay for this," he says, narrowing his eyes.

Two hours later, they're still shooting at each other.

Jack never thought that Baal could be fun.

\--------------------

Only when Jack is dying, does Baal finally touch him.

It is a gentle thing, soft and tantalizing. Baal runs his fingertips lightly across Jack's knee, slides them slowly into a full-palmed caress of Jack's upper thigh, and with his other hand, he presses against Jack's bleeding torso. It makes Jack groan, and he's not sure if he's responding to the pain or the pleasure.

"Your death," the goa'uld whispers, breathing into Jack's ear, "has always aroused me."

"Bastard," Jack starts to say, but Baal's lips are there, taking and devouring Jack's mouth, a slick tongue snaking out to lick at Jack's teeth. Jack falls back against the wall, disgust flickering at the edges of his reason, but Baal pushes forward, his hands capturing Jack's face. A thumb wrenches Jack's jaws apart, and Baal invades him, delving deeply into Jack's mouth. 

_Mayday,_ Jack thinks, and then _you little fucker_ , but long hot stabs of Baal's tongue quickly drive those thoughts away. He doesn't realize that he's scrabbling at Baal's neck, scratching at his shoulders, until Baal suddenly hisses into the kiss, but realization only makes Jack wildly gleeful. He's got blood all over the place; he wants to spread it around. 

"I will make you suffer," Baal whispers into his mouth. "Oh, so very greatly."

"Shut the hell up," Jack growls back, and he bites harshly at Baal's lips. Baal hisses again, swinging himself onto Jack's hips and grinding against him, but it's unfair, Jack thinks, that Baal's lips will never swell, will never become puffy. The redness vanishes mere moments after Jack applies his teeth, and as he makes his way across Baal's cheek and down the line of his neck, he finds himself hating the goa'uld more than ever.

"Open your mouth," Baal suddenly orders him, and he's on his knees leaning over Jack, his hands wrenching at the ties to his pants. His cock is at Jack's eyelevel, outlined against the thin fabric of his trousers, and Jack reaches out, squeezing it harshly.

"Yeah fucking right," Jack tells him, just to piss him off.

Baal snarls, grabbing handfuls of Jack's hair, and knocks Jack's head hard against the wall behind him--once, twice--with goa'uld-induced strength behind the move. Stars flare up in Jack's vision, and pain overcomes his thoughts for a brief, brilliant second--when he can focus again, Baal's cock is surging back and forward in his mouth, is spearing down his throat.

Jack gags. There is pubic hair scratching against his face, and Baal is less than fresh--everything smells and tastes terrible. But Jack is feeling crazy, wild, and he wants Baal to give it up, he wants to _force_ Baal to give it up, so he throws his arms around Baal's waist, urging him on, and moans as Baal yanks at his hair. Baal rides him fiercely for a few moments more, and then he shoots down Jack's throat.

" _Yes_ ," Jack hisses, releasing him. 

Then Jack reaches up, ignoring the painful, tearing protest of his abdomen, and hauls Baal to the floor, stretching him out upon the ground. Baal only stares at him, dazed and smug, as Jack climbs atop him and begins to drive himself against Baal's body, dick to dick, sliding them both together roughly, Baal beginning to moan again from oversensitivity. It hurts for Jack, too-- _god_ , it hurts--but it also feels so fucking _good_. 

Jack is furiously triumphant when he comes.

When he finally catches his breath, Baal is leaning over on his side, staring at Jack's body. There is blood from Jack's wound coating them both, and Baal is playing with it, rubbing it into his own skin and sliding it over Jack's. The goa'uld, Jack thinks tiredly, have a really weird way of feeling people up.

Baal catches his eye, he's smirking. Jack surprises himself by rolling his eyes and smiling back. "Well, that's it, then," Jack says, closing his eyes and relaxing. "I'd say it was nice knowing you, but it really hasn't been."

"Please," Baal says, his voice dismissive. "Haven't I taught you anything about death?" 

Jack opens his eyes, stares at him. Reads the intent on Baal's face.

"No," Jack says, beginning to fight in earnest. "No!" He scrabbles to his knees, and begins crawling away with enraged determination. "Don't you dare!"

"You can hardly think," Baal says from behind him, "that I'd let you die now."

"Baal, you bastard," he warns, but he doesn't stop in his desperate scramble to get away. "You'd better not..."

"After all," Baal continues, smiling down at him, "You'd make a wonderful host."

And then he's suddenly there, leaning forward and covering Jack's lips with his own once again, and there's something _in_ his mouth, something slick and hard and smooth moving between his lips, going down into his throat, a sharp pain as the goa'uld symbiote forces its way into his body...

...and then there is nothing but darkness.

_____________

 

When they become one, Jack finally sees.

So does Baal.

But they both still hate the Tok'ra.

______________

Five months later, when they are rescued, it really is over.

Everyone is crammed into the room holding the Stargate, green-brown SGC personell facing off gold-tan Jaffa, P-90s and staff-weaponry bristling everywhere. Jack looks around at it all, and finds himself holding back laugher--his own hand is fisted tightly in the tattered shirt covering Baal's shoulder, and Baal's arm is wrapped securely around Jack's waist. 

_We're so fucked,_ Jack thinks to himself.

Baal looks down at him, and the look in his eyes is darkly amused. They're on the same page, Jack realizes, and he's surprised to find that he expected that understanding--that it had become something usual, something normal. But after a moment, Baal backs away from him, and they step away from each other.

Baal's slaves huddle around him, offering comfort and whatever else a tangible god is accustomed to from his worshipers. He looks pleased, sated, happy. Jack, for his part, is drawn into SG-1--his friends, his family, his home. He reaches for them all, hugging them tightly, tucking his face first in Daniel's shoulder then Carter's, touching a hand softly to Teal'c cheek. He lets them tell him how much they missed him, how glad they are that he's back, how much they wanted him home. He lets them surround him, ground him, bring him back to earth. Both parties, having what they came for, begin to drift apart. 

Jack stops them, turning around. "Hey," he calls out softly.

The bustling around Baal's camp quiets, shudders to a stop. The goa'uld is holding up his hands, commanding the silence, and he turns, lifting an eyebrow at Jack.

Jack holds Daniel's hand tightly, forces himself to speak. "If I see you again," he tells Baal, his voice low, "I'll kill you. Don't let this--" and he waves a hand between them, back and forth--"tell you any differently."

It's surprisingly difficult to say, and there's some part of him that wants to take it back.

But Baal only smiles at him, that superior smirk that used to make Jack want to rip him open from the inside out. "And _when_ I see you again, O'Neill," Baal tells him softly, "make no mistake--you _will_ learn the true meaning of slavery. It is only a matter of time."

The words are a taunt, Jack knows. Baal never really got over doing that--hell, neither of them did. But looking into Baal's shadowed eyes, looking at Baal's suddenly strained features and tense posture, he also knows the statement for what it is, for the truth that it is hiding.

Jack turns away. The rest of SG-1 is looking at him worriedly, looking at Baal a bit angrily; they are confused, upset, and it isn't something Jack likes to see. So as he leaves, he calls over his shoulder. 

"See you on the flip side, Sparky!"

And though the Stargate's activation muffles all other sound in the room, Jack swears he can hear Baal's teeth grinding.


End file.
